Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return
by ThinkingCAPSLOCK
Summary: The sequel to PL and the Rewound Repercussions, featuring Legal's new life. Spoilers for the third game.
1. Blueprint 1

**- Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return – Part 1**

Clive pushed the heavy wooden door open, allowing a chill wind to gust past him and into the hall. Shivering, he leaned his bag on the nearby chair and closed the door. How he had once longed to feel the wind, the rain, the snow! Now, he was not so sure.

"Welcome back, Clive!"

Clive glanced up from pulling off his loafers to see Flora standing near the kitchen door, beaming down at him from the landing.

"Hello," he said, fighting the frown from his lips. Flora was a nice girl, yes, but she was a bit naïve. He wasn't sure he could handle her perkiness if forced near her too long.

"Would you like a cup of tea? The professor brought home a new blend today! It's very sweet!"

"I hate sweets," Clive replied bluntly, straightening up. He brushed a stray leaf from his jacket and it fluttered to the floor.

"O-oh."

_Damn_, thought Clive. _That was the wrong thing to say._ "I—I mean, that would be lovely."

"A-are you sure?" Flora bit her lip anxiously. "I could make something else if you—"

"No!" Clive interrupted. "Don't make anything! Don't—don't touch anything in the kitchen!"

Flora cocked her head to the side. "Hm? Why?" She narrowed her eyes. "You didn't booby trap it or anything, did you? I wouldn't like that."

"Of course not. I wouldn't waste my energy on something like that."

"If you say so." Flora's tone was sweet as she walked away, but her eyes said _I will be watching you._

Clive shivered, this time out of fear than cold. Flora could be strangely intimidating at times. He still hadn't released the notion that she could be trying to poison him under the guise of poor cooking skills.

Then again, Clive admitted, he probably deserved it. This was her way of getting back at him.

If only she weren't so passive-aggressive.

Clive sighed, then wandered into the kitchen.

"Good afternoon, Clive," the professor said, placidly folding his newspaper and placing it on the table.

"Hello, Hershel." Clive took his seat at the professor's side, mood mellowing in response to his presence.

"Hey!" Flora exclaimed, pointing a ladle threateningly at him from across the room. "I told you, don't call him that!"

Layton chuckled. "It's quite alright, Flora. He's an adult now. He may call me by whatever name he prefers."

Clive suppressed a smirk. In all honesty, he could have kept calling Hershel "professor" forever, but Flora's reaction had made the decision for him. He would stick to "Hershel" as long as he was in her vicinity.

"It's rude, professor!" Flora replied, stirring the night's stew almost viciously. "He-owes-you!" She slammed the ladle down on the counter and began vigorously chopping onions.

"Careful, my dear. You'll cut yourself," Layton replied, sipping his tea. "How was work, Clive?"

"Tedious," Clive replied with a grimace. "An entry level job is perfectly understandable, but I do believe the monotony will kill me."

"Persevere, my boy," Layton replied. Clive raised an eyebrow. Layton smiled back. "If you may call me what you like, Clive, I'm afraid I'm allowed to do the same."

"I suppose you're correct in that assumption." Clive picked up the news and perused the headlines. He snorted. "Fantastic."

"Hm?" Layton rested his teacup on the saucer. "Is something the matter?"

"No, pro—Hershel. Nothing at all. If you'll excuse me, then, I'll be going to my room." He tossed the paper back on the paper and exited.

"But your tea!" Flora called helplessly after him. She pursed her lips. "That guy…"

Layton chuckled. "Now, now, Flora. I'm sure he's just having trouble adjusting. Freedom is as terrible a burden as it is a salvation, you know." His eyes travelled back to the paper. He sighed at the front page. "I had meant to dispose of this before he came home."

"What is it?" Flora tossed the knife haphazardly into the sink and walked over, wiping her hands on her apron as she went.

"It seems the press has enjoyed making quite the spectacle of our friend Clive's release." Layton gestured to the front page.

Flora skimmed the article. "Well, I really want to say he deserves it—and I mean _really_—but I suppose this goes a bit too far."

"Rather." Layton frowned down at the page. "It's because of articles like this that Clive had such a hard time finding a job."

"I know a lot of this is justified, but… I wouldn't call him a psychopathic mass-murderer. I think I remember reading that there were no fatalities." Flora paused. "Er, well, the injury count looked pretty high, but I'm pretty sure that isn't a body count. R-right, professor…?"

Layton merely sighed and put his tea down. "Either way, it seems like we have quite the celebrity living with us now."


	2. Blueprint 2

**- Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return – Part 2**

"Clive."

Clive lifted his head at the sound of the soft knock on the door. "I'm busy, prof—Hershel."

"I know. I thought you'd like some tea."

"I'm quite content as I am, Hershel."

"Content is not the same as pleased," Layton replied. "May I come in?"

"As you wish," Clive replied at length.

"Wonderful." Hershel smiled, balancing the silver tray on one arm, then opened the door. "I acquired a new blend recently, but Flora assured me you wouldn't like it. I hope you won't say no to some Belle Classic, though, hm?"

Clive watched from his desk chair as Layton elegantly poured a cup of tea. "Masterful as always, professor."

The corners of Layton's mouth twitched, amused at the way Clive so easily fell back into old patterns. "Indeed, my boy."

Clive accepted the cup with a simple, "Thank you." He then turned back to the heavy tome on the desk.

"Studying hard?" Layton asked, sitting politely on the corner of the bed.

"It seems that way, doesn't it?" Clive replied, flipping to the next page. He sighed. "The author has all the architectural creativity of a wet slug, I'm afraid."

Layton frowned suddenly. "Surely, you aren't going to try to rebuild…?"

"What do you take me for?" Clive viewed the professor through narrowed eyes. "I have no intention of recreating 'Future' London. Or do you think I haven't learned from my mistakes…?"

"I wasn't implying—"

"No, I know what you were doing." Clive spun back around in his chair. "Thank you for the tea."

"Clive, I—"

"I said, _thank you for the tea, professor._"

"I…" Layton frowned, then stood. "I'm sorry, Clive." Lingering at the door, he added, "I never meant to hurt you."

Clive hesitated. "I…I want to build a theme park."

"A…a theme park?" Layton repeated. "I'm not saying it's a bad idea, but I'm rather surprised at you."

"W-why?" Clive grimaced. "Am I not allowed to have pleasant thoughts once in a while?"

"Not at all," Layton said quickly. "I just…never took you to be a carnival gentleman."

"I've always been interested in the arts," Clive replied. "And now, since I've been cut loose from journalism, this seems to be the only option available to me."

"That's rather…noble of you."

"I've spent enough time on destruction. Perhaps I should spend a little more on salvation."

"An admirable notion, indeed."

Clive slammed the book shut suddenly. "You're laughing at me, aren't you? You think I'm silly. You think I'm childish. You—"

"Nonsense. I'm just wondering why you chose a theme park as your end goal."

"I…I used to go to parks with my parents." Clive ran his hand over the cracked volume cover. "Those memories...they're grown blurry in my mind, but I…I would like to…to…"

"Recreate them?"

Clive clenched his teeth. "Well, I was going to say 'create the opportunity for other children', but if that's what you want to think, I can't stop you."

Layton chuckled. "Indeed."

"If you'll excuse me, then. I have to get back to my work."

"Of course."

"A-and, professor…"

"Yes, my boy?"

"I would be honoured if you helped me."

"Of course."


	3. Blueprint 3

**- Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return – Part 3**

Hershel had always known that Clive was a genius when it came to architecture and engineering but seeing him in action was something quite difference. The pure ingenuity that Clive brought to the project was downright inspiring. It wasn't long before Hershel decided it would be best to observe rather than contribute, knowing that Clive was much better at this than he.

Really, the only use Hershel seemed to have for Clive was as a sounding board for ideas. Once and while, Clive would ask him a question about a location of a ride, or

if there were perhaps too many types of one particular ride in one area. It seemed to Hershel that what Clive lacked wasn't in his design so much as in his experience.

"Clive, how long has it been since you've actually attended an amusement park yourself?" Hershel asked one evening as he looked over the boy's blueprints.

"Hm? It has been quite some time, prof—Hershel, as I had said. The last time I went was with my parents, of course."

"Then I believe you are lacking in something very fundamental, my boy."

"Oh?" Clive tapped the back of his pencil against his lip, seeming to only half hear the professor. Hershel reached over Clive's shoulder and pushed the partially unrolled print back against the table. That seemed to get the youth's attention. "What is it, professor?"

"Hershel," Hershel corrected.

"Yes."

"I was wondering if you'd like to go to the amusement park tomorrow with me?" he asked. "With Flora and Luke, too, of course."

"Is Luke visiting again?" Clive asked.

Hershel chuckled. "It's hard to keep him away."

"Even with me here?"

"Even with you here. I think he grew fond of you back then—in secret, of course."

"Really? It seemed he always had something to prove against me," Clive replied, marking down a couple measurements absently on the page.

"He wanted to impress you."

"I'm not so sure, professor."

"Hershel." Hershel shook his head. "Why else would your—ah, forgive me—betrayal wound him so?"

Clive flinched at the word but didn't comment on it. "You have a point."

"Of course."

Clive finally looked up, frowning. "My apologies, pr—Hershel. As I'm sure you've realized, relationships with others comes only with great…difficulty…to me."

Hershel smiled warmly. "I know, my boy. But how else can one fix such problems except with experience? Perhaps you'll kill two birds with one stone this way."

"I understand." Clive nodded. "You are quite right, Hershel. Perhaps you should have gone into psychology rather than archaeology."

"Oh?"

"You would've made a fine counsellor." Clive smiled wryly. "My time spent with you has been a thousand times more helpful than any session with a psychiatrist has ever been." He paused. "Ever _could have_ been."

Hershel laughed modestly but was obviously flattered. "Shame on you, my boy. This won't get you a higher grade, you know."

In the time that Clive had spent in the Layton household, he had decided to go back to university for a "fresh start", as Hershel had so quaintly put it. He had, of course, enrolled in all of Hershel's courses, hoping to hold a double major in psychology and archaeology.

"People go into psychology to cure their own problems," Clive had said at the time. "Perhaps with this I will be able to become 'better'."

"I wouldn't worry too much, my boy," was Hershel's reply. "I believe you've made quite a lot of progress already."

But still, Clive worried.

He always worried.


	4. Blueprint 4

**- Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return – Part 4**

"Good morning, Clive."

"Pro…Hershel, what time is it?"

"Seven, my boy. One must get an early start if one is to go to an amusement park!"

"Professor, I was up all night finalizing the blueprint of the entrance. Could it not wait?"

"I'm afraid not, my boy. Flora and Luke are already up and ready to go."

Clive snorted. "I guess it would not be much in my favour to make them wait, then."

"I do get that feeling, yes."

So Clive got up and got dressed and tried to wash the dark circles from under his eyes. When he finally came down the stairs, it was clear that Luke and Flora were getting antsy.

"About time!" Luke said. "I woke up at five thirty for this, you know!"

Flora was still half asleep, so all she could muster was a dirty look and to finish gobbling up the last of Clive's breakfast.

"There. Now we can go!" Luke said.

"Mmph," said Flora.

Clive gave a weak laugh. "But of course."

"You should eat something, Clive," Hershel said as he came down the stairs, pulling on his iconic brown jacket with the ridiculous collar.

"I'm fine, thank you, Hershel," Clive replied.

"Really, now, you won't have energy if you don't eat."

Clive sighed, turned to the professor and beamed an impressive grin at him. "As long as I am with you, Hershel, I shall always have energy."

Luke feigned puking and Flora looked like she was going to sob. Hershel was speechless. Clive merely kept the small smile plastered on his face.

"Come now," he said, "Weren't we supposed to be leaving?"

"Right!" Luke agreed enthusiastically, racing out the door. "I call shotgun!"

"Now, Luke, a true gentleman always lets a lady sit in the front…" Hershel called after him rather uselessly.

"I'll take care of it, Hershel," Clive offered. "Oi! Pipsqueak!" He vanished out the door.

"Professor, will it be chilly at the theme park?" Flora asked. "I thought they only just opened."

"Perhaps a little, Flora. Make sure you have a warm jacket."

"Alright!"

The car ride in itself was not wholly unpleasant, but it was rather awkward for Clive. Luke, who he had wrestled into the back seat to make room for Flora, had taken to staring up at him, eyes round and huge.

"Is something the matter?" Clive asked pointedly at last.

"Of course something's the matter," Luke said. "You tried to kill us only a few years ago and now you're sitting in the Laytonmobile, waiting to be taken to a theme park!"

"Luke…" Hershel warned.

"It's quite alright, Hershel. Had our positions been reversed, I am sure my feelings would be the same, perhaps more so."

"I don't believe you've changed," Luke said, eyes narrowing.

Clive gave a little half smile. "Do you not believe it or do you not _want_ to believe it?"

"I-I don't believe it!" Luke snapped, a little confused.

"I think you like me," Clive said, staring lazily out the window.

"I-I do not!"

"I'm like the big brother you never had."

"You are not!"

"We even look alike."

"We don't look like each other at all!"

"Really? I distinctly remember fooling a certain _someone_ into believing that I was him, only ten years in the future and—"

"I-I only pretended to believe! I was like the professor, I knew the whole time! Er, most of the whole time."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really! I'll have you know…"

Flora looked up at the professor as the two continued to quarrel. "Professor, shouldn't we stop them?" she asked rather helplessly.

"No," Hershel replied with a smile. "I think they're getting along just fine."

"If you say so, professor…"


	5. Blueprint 5

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 5—**

"Professor!" Luke shouted. "I want to go on a roller coaster first, professor!"

"Don't listen to him! Let's go on the spinning cups first!" Flora exclaimed. "I'm oldest so _I_ get to choose first!"

"Actually, I believe Clive is the eldest," Hershel said amiably. "What do you think, my boy? What do you want to go on first?"

Clive blinked back his surprise. "Ah…I haven't any favourites."

"Nonsense! A true gentleman always has a course of action in mind," Hershel replied.

"Roller coaster!" said Luke.

"Spinning cups!" said Flora. They both stared intensely at Clive, eyes sharp and cheeks red.

"If I choose either of those, the other will be furious with me," Clive told them. "So how about we try the Ferris wheel?"

"Ugh," said Luke. "I've had enough of _those_ for a life time." He passed a knowing smile to Hershel. "Right, professor?"

Hershel chuckled. "Perhaps this time it will not be so dangerous."

Luke looked away, disheartened. His attempt at an inside joke had failed. "You're just saying that because you like Clive best."

"I do not." Hershel frowned. "I love each of you very much. Where would I be without my number one apprentice?" He put a hand on Luke's shoulder and the boy immediately brightened up.

"That's right, professor! And as your _apprentice number one_, I say we should go on the roller coaster first!"

"Spinning cups!" exclaimed Flora.

"It seems we've reached an impasse," said the professor, looking over to Clive.

"In all honesty, I have no preference," Clive replied.

"Come now, my boy. Surely you had a favourite when you were a small boy?"

Clive leaned back on his heels, putting a hand to his mouth and concentrating deeply. "Well…"

"Yes?" Hershel prompted.

"I do recall a stuffed rabbit…though only vaguely. Perhaps that is a clue?"

"I believe you're thinking of carnival games, my boy."

"Oh. Yes, that's probably right. It's awfully hard to keep my memories straight." Clive rubbed his temple with his forefinger and thumb. "They get terribly jumbled, I…I just…"

"There's no hurry, Clive. Take your time."

"Hurry up!" Luke contradicted. "I want to go on the roller coaster!"

"_Spinning cups_," Flora hissed.

"All right, all right, children," Hershel chuckled. "How about this? Luke, you and Flora can take one end of the park, while Clive and I take the other. Make sure you go on rides you _both_ agree on."

"Yes!" Luke exclaimed, taking Flora's hand in his and pulling her down the path. "Come on, Flora, let's go on the roller coaster!"

"Don't you mean _spinning cups,_ Luke?" she growled back.

"Remember, Luke! A true gentleman always respects a lady's wishes!" Hershel called after them. His actions, however, were futile—they had already blended into the crowd.

"Are you sure they'll be alright, professor?" Clive asked, rather concerned. "They're still quite young."

Hershel smiled. "They have each other. Besides, I'm afraid to say we've fasted far worse together."

"But you were together."

"Yes."

"Don't you see, professor? You were with them."

"Hm. Do you think I should go after them?"

"I don't know what to think, really. Your parenting skills seem a bit…lax." Clive smirked. "Well. Not that I would know."

Hershel reached over and ruffled Clive's hair. "Your memories might be vague, my boy, but that's why we're here. We can make new memories."

"To replace the old."

"To _enhance_ the old, my boy."

"Professor, have you ever heard the word 'confabulation'?"

"It's not like that, Clive."

"No, but that's certain to happen."

"Well, whether your recollections are true or false, at least they will be fond." Hershel waited for Clive to respond. Nothing. "Well, then, shall we try the Ferris wheel first?"

"I suppose so."

And so Hershel and Clive made their way to the brilliantly lit wheel. They boarded silently, sitting on either sides of the gondola.

"Are you afraid of heights, professor?" Clive asked, watching as the ground fell away beneath them.

"How peculiar."

"What is?"

"You've reverted to calling me 'professor'."

"Have I? I hadn't noticed."

"Are you uncomfortable calling me by name?"

Clive shrugged. "I am neither comfortable nor uncomfortable."

"Clive."

"Yes. That is my name."

Hershel sighed. "Do you not enjoy staying with me?"

"What has brought this about? Of course I enjoy staying with you."

"If you were able to live elsewhere, would you?"

"Where would I go? No one will house a penniless criminal." Clive laughed bitterly.

"The situation here is hypothetical, Clive."

"I have no need for fantasy, professor. It is reality that matters."

Hershel looked out the window and across the park, thinking. "Do you ever read fiction books, Clive?"

"Do I what?"

"Read fiction books."

"I have no need for the make-believe of others."

"I'm sorry to say this, Clive, but I feel that if you don't have a little whimsy in your soul, your park will be only mechanics and paint."

"Isn't that what all parks are, professor?"

"No, Clive. They are so much more than that. This—" he gestured to the window—"is a memory waiting to happen."

Clive snorted. "Professor, _all_ things are memories waiting to happen. You'll have to be more specific."

"Do your constructions have a soul, Clive?"

"They are machines. They may be fine works of engineering, but they can't possibly have souls."

"Humans, also, can be considered machines."

"I never said I believed that humans had souls, did I?" Clive loosened his tie. "But no, I do not believe that my constructions have a soul."

"Do you enjoy building things?"

"I don't dislike it."

"That's not what I asked, though, is it?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Clive, how do you expect people to enjoy your works if you yourself can't enjoy them?"

Clive made a sound in the back of his throat but stayed silent a few moments longer. "My opinion is irrelevant. If people _need_ things to have a soul, they shall invent it themselves."

"Perhaps," Hershel said, "and perhaps not."

"Oh? Are you going to prove to me otherwise?"

The corners of Hershel's mouth twitched into a smile. "Every puzzle has an answer."


	6. Blueprint 6

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 6—**

Clive watched as the scenery slowly flowed past the gondola window. "Professor…"

"Yes, Clive?"

Clive bit his lip. "Never mind. My apologies."

"Out with it, my boy."

"Do you remember your childhood, professor?"

"I do." Hershel smiled fondly. "I was quite the rebellious little boy, you know."

"I would never have believed it."

"I was rather like Luke, actually. However, where Luke is generally considerate of others, I'm afraid I was quite a bit selfish."

"All young children are, I suppose."

"I was a handful for my parents." Hershel chuckled. "They never knew what to do with me. In time I straightened out, though."

"Evidently."

"What about you, Clive? You've never really spoken of your life."

"All I remember of my childhood is fire," Clive replied. "I'm afraid that's blocked out quite a few of my memories." He laughed bitterly. "Well, you were there. I'm sure you understand."

"I'm sure the good memories will come back to you eventually, my boy. Just give it time."

"I don't have time."

"You have lots of time, my boy, don't be foolish."

Clive sighed and rested his head against the windowpane, brown hair pressed against his face. "No…"

"Clive, there is no need to do everything right away. You _do_ have time. You may stay with me as long as you need."

"You don't understand, professor…"

"Then teach me." Hershel smiled kindly. "I may be old but I am not above learning new things."

"No, you don't understand. You _can't_ understand." Clive stared at the park far below them. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Clive said nothing, merely closing his eyes. "Well, you'll know one day, regardless."

"I will wait for that day, then."

Clive gave a sudden derisive snort. "Indeed."

"I don't understand, my boy," Hershel said blankly.

"You will." Clive sat up again and combed his fingers through his hair, then readjusted his cap. It was good to wear normal clothes again, he thought.

"You seem tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Sleep is for the weak, professor."

"It's for the _intelligent._ You'd feel more stable if you got the proper number of hours, you know."

"That's what they tell me."

"Doesn't that warrant trying it, then?"

"What _they_ want and what is _right_ are different things, professor."

"Clive…" Hershel trailed off, worried. Clive had not gone on this vein in quite a while.

"Do you disagree with me, professor? What is _lawful_ and what is _right_ are often two different things. I thought you would have learned that from your…experience…with Claire."

Hershel bit his lip and stared hard at the youth. "_Clive_…" he warned again. "Please."

Clive smiled suddenly. "You're right, professor. Of course you're right. I'm being foolish, aren't I?" And then he laughed. Hershel laughed with him.

It was a hollow laugh.


	7. Blueprint 7

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 7—**

Hershel stepped out of the gondola, offering a hand to Clive. To his surprise, Clive ignored this gesture and brushed past, glancing down the line.

"It appears your wards have returned," he said.

"O-oh, yes, m'boy," Hershel replied, hastily adjusting his collar. "Hello again."

"Professor!" Luke shouted. "Professor! She made me go on all the _princess_ rides! It was terrible! What took you so long?"

"That wasn't as bad as what _you_ made _me_ go on!" Flora cried. "I had to go on all those awful roller coasters! My ribbon nearly blew away! It's my favourite one, you know!"

"Don't wear your favourite ribbon to a theme park, then, Flora! You know it gets bumpy! This is why we never take you on any adventures," Luke scolded.

"You horrid little _beast_, I'll—"

Hershel expertly pulled Flora away from Luke before she could claw at his face. Clive grabbed the back of Luke's sweater and hoisted him back.

"Oi! Don't touch me!" Luke batted at Clive, but the angle was rather awkward and all he could do was flail helplessly. Clive grinned.

"Now, now, pipsqueak. Be nice to the ladies."

"Flora's crazy!"

"I'll let you in on a secret, shrimp. They're _all_ crazy."

Luke wasn't quite sure what to think of this and stopped for a moment. Clive just chuckled. Luke may not have understood why, but he was sure that he was being laughed at.

"Stop that!"

"You can let go, Clive. I'd rather we didn't start a full scale war between the two," Hershel said with a smile.

"As you wish, professor." Clive released Luke and stepped back before the boy could kick him in the shins.

"Let me talk with the boy a moment. I'm sure we can get this all smoothed out."

"Indeed." Clive returned to Flora, who eyed him suspiciously. "What?"

"I don't know what you're doing, but I'm not sure I like it," she replied.

"What are you saying? I haven't the foggiest," Clive replied. "Oh, your ribbon-"

Flora had a moment of panic and slapped her hands to her ponytail. "You wretch! It's right here."

"No, I know. It's undone. Here, I'll fix—"

"Don't touch me!"

Clive frowned. "I know we've had our problems, but—"

"_You kidnapped me!_"

Clive shrugged. "Water under the bridge and all that."

"You weren't the one that kidnapped!"

"Well," Clive said with a sly smile, "you didn't put up much of a fight, now, did you?" He sidestepped her purse as it swung past.

"You…you…you…!" Flora growled, getting terribly red in the face. "Beast!"

"There's no sense in getting angry. Now, let me fix your ribbon. You don't want to lose it, right? I'll tie it so that it doesn't come undone as easily."

Flora was conflicted, but eventually relented. "Fine."

Clive undid the bow and straightened Flora's ponytail, then retied it, making sure to loop it once under the hair tie. "There. Now it should be more secure."

Flora mumbled something and hurried back to the professor. Clive smiled after her. As much as they all fought, he knew that they really were good kids. He was really beginning to truly enjoy his days spent with these people.

If only he had known them before. Perhaps things would have been different then.


	8. Blueprint 8

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 8—**

Hershel turned the key ignition and the Laytonmobile purred to life. "Did everyone enjoy today's excursion?"

"Yes!" the children chorused from the back seat.

"I love this—what did you call it, Luke?—this 'cottage candy' stuff!"

"Cotton candy, Flora," Luke corrected.

"Yes! It tastes like sugary clouds!"

"Did you enjoy yourself, m'boy?"

"Yes!" Luke cuddled a gigantic blue teddy bear.

"What do you say to Clive?" Hershel hinted. Luke mumbled something. "I can't hear you, my boy."

"Thanks, Clive," Luke said, hiding his face in the bear, "for winning the ball game and getting this for me…"

Clive laughed. "It was nothing. Accuracy is what I'm best at."

"I never thought you'd be so good at carnival games, though. Pardon if I offend, but you never struck me as much of the athletic type."

"No, I never excelled in team sports. Carnival games, however, are brain over brawn. As I said, accuracy is my strong point. I don't need to be able to throw particularly far or hard for that."

"Point taken." Hershel smiled and glanced in the back mirror. "Do you think you'd like to ask Clive to teach you, Luke? If that would be alright with you, of course."

"Oh, I'm sure there are a few tricks I could show him."

"I prefer puzzles. Throwing games aren't as fun," Luke muttered.

"Carnival games are also puzzles," Clive replied. "It just depends on how you think of it."

"They are?"

"They're just special puzzles. All you need to do is find the right angle to throw and you can usually win at least _something_."

"Hmm." Luke narrowed his eyes. He still didn't trust Clive—not even a little bit—but the thought of considering carnival games puzzles was rather intriguing.

"Has our trip helped you with your planning, Clive?" Hershel asked lightly.

"Hm. Yes, I'd say it was rather helpful. I do believe my layout shall be more efficient. Perhaps I should gather similarly themed rides in one place, rather than scattering them? Though I understand a variety may have more aesthetic appeal…"

"What do you think, Flora, Luke?" Hershel asked.

"There should be lots of roller coasters!" Luke exclaimed.

"And spinny cups!" Flora added.

"Roller coasters!"  
"Spinny cups!"

"_Roller coasters_!"

"_Spinny_—"

"Let's not start this again, shall we?" Hershel said quickly. "I'm sure there can be a proper ratio of both."

"Roller coasters surely have the components I need for this project," Clive agreed, "and I'm sure spinning cups wouldn't hurt the overall design."

"Fantastic!" Hershel said. "I'm glad you've got more ideas."

"Oh, yes, professor," Clive agreed with a slight smile. "I have many new plans now."


	9. Blueprint 9

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 9—**

Hershel rubbed his tired his eyes with a forefinger and thumb, sitting up in bed. A light flickered down the hallway, indicating that Clive was still very much awake. Hershel glanced at the clock beside his bed. It was well past three a.m.—was the boy really still hard at work?

Hershel rose and padded softly out of his room and down the hall. "Clive?"

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Clive said, spinning a compass expertly between his fingers and drawing a wide circle across his plans.

"I should be asking you that, my boy. You've been at it like this every night since you came here."

"There's no rest for the wicked, professor," Clive replied. Hershel paused, unable to gauge whether Clive was joking or being quite serious.

"You'll become ill."

"I'm fine."

"Become indicates the _future_."

"Yes, but as long as I am fine, I can continue working."

Hershel sighed. Arguing would get them nowhere. "All work and no play—"

"Gets Jack a master's in engineering," Clive finished. "Are you having a bought of insomnia, professor? You rarely visit at night."

"Yes, I suppose I am. May I come in?"

"Let me clear up a bit first," Clive replied, putting his compass away and quickly stacking his blueprints in a neat pile. He rolled them up and put them away carefully in the desk drawer. "There we go, that should do it."

"Organized desk, organized mind," Hershel said.

"Indeed." Clive stood, turning to face the professor. "I'm afraid I don't know the social convention for this sort of event, actually. Am I to get you warm milk?"

"No," Hershel laughed, "I am quite alright. I'm the one bothering you, after all."

Clive shrugged vaguely. "It doesn't trouble me. Night is when I'm most alert, after all."

"A true night owl, eh, my boy? I suppose it comes with youth."

"The best thinking is done at night because no one is awake to distract you. It's peaceful."

Hershel frowned. "So I _am_ being a bother."

"No. As you said, professor, I should take a break once in a while. I fear I was approaching upon artist's block again, anyway. Perhaps this will relieve it."

"Do you want me to look over your plans? I am no engineer, of course, but I may be able to help."

A funny look came over Clive's face. "Ah, no, that's quite alright." He looked away awkwardly. "I would much prefer you to see the real thing first. Or perhaps the prototype model. I am indebted to you, after all—this park is my gratitude."

"Clive, I'm…I don't know what to say. Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, professor," he replied with a tilted half smile. "I could never have come so far without you."

"No, no, it was all on your own strength." Hershel shook his head.

"That's what you say," Clive said. "I believe the truth is something of a different matter." For a moment his eyes lingered sadly on the floor. He then turned back to the professor. "Now, how about we heat some milk? We can't have you falling asleep during tomorrow's lecture, after all. A true gentleman always stays awake in front of students!"

Layton smiled. "Indeed he does."


	10. Blueprint 10

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 10—**

Clive rubbed his temples, frustrated. The parts of his design were somehow just _not right_. It was never going to work like this. He needed some sort of inspiration to get this plan off the ground, but he hadn't any idea _how_. It wasn't as if he could go to the professor with something like this. The professor was the last person he wanted to know!

"Troubled, my boy?"

Clive looked up. "Is your lecture finished already?"

"I thought I'd let class out early today. Students rarely listen in the morning, and as it's the last class before winter exams… Well, I thought they could use a break."

"You're a kinder professor than I ever had." Clive smirked. "Though, I'm sure you're far more interesting, anyway. I'm not sure I ever had a professor that managed to answer questions properly, let alone stay on topic."  
"Oh, I'm sure I drift at times, too."

"Nonsense. You actually enjoy archaeology."

"I'm afraid I do." Hershel chuckled.

"I should hope so. Professor teaching things they don't care about is a terrible combination." Clive frowned.

"Was your university experience really so horrible?"

Clive sighed and leaned back in his chair. "No, it really wasn't all that bad. Aside from the professors, it was rather decent. Unlike many of my peers, I actually enjoyed learning."

Hershel smiled. "Well, we all have classmates like that."

"I suppose I'm being unfair. I'm sure there were plenty of good people in my classes. I just never managed to find them."

"I'm sure you will eventually."  
"I already have." Clive managed a weak smile.

"Now, now, Clive. I'm sure there are other people who are just as acceptable as I."

Clive rolled his pencil across the desk, thinking. "Perhaps. But they haven't had the same…experiences, now, have they?"

Hershel frowned. "Clive…"

"I know it's unhealthy to dwell. But really, now, what do you expect from me? I'm the one who built an _underground duplicate of London_, after all."

"I wouldn't be so harsh on myself, my boy."

"Hershel, do you understand how many people I could have killed? Can you fathom that at all?" Clive stood and turned around to face the professor. "Do you realize how many innocent lives I could have taken? I could have done exactly the same sorts of thing as the people I was trying to take revenge on."

Hershel was silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Yes. I try not to think of that. Forgive an old man for his escapism."

"You…you aren't old."

"Nonetheless, I believe this environment is far more conducive to change than any prison or asylum ever could be." He smiled again. "You needed help, Clive. Help that other people weren't willing to give."

"That's why I'm thankful to you, professor. I don't know what I would do if I were still there. I'd say 'hang myself', but I'm afraid they took my belt. Hell, they even took my shoelace—"

"Don't talk like that, Clive. That is never the answer."

"Sorry, professor. A bit of morbid humour. I suppose it doesn't suit me."

"I'm always here for you, Clive. If you ever need me, all you have to do is call."  
"I know." Clive gave a sudden barking laugh. "Do you know how many breakdowns I've had since coming here?"

Hershel shifted uncomfortably, a look of concern playing across his face. "How many?"

"None."

"N…none?"

"Well, other than any you might have seen." Clive chuckled. "Certainly nothing like before, at least."

"Yes, I…I do remember those times."

"Let's hope they never return. Then again, they were rather amusing, weren't they?"

"I believe 'worrying' is a better term, my boy."

"Yes, yes," Clive agreed, waving his hand absently. "I promise you I won't go off spouting Hamlet again any time soon. Is that what I did? I can't even recall now."

"Among other things, probably."

"Anyway, what I mean to tell you…what I've been trying to tell you, at any rate… I just…"

"What is it, my boy?"

Clive finally looked up and met the professor's gaze. "Thank you."

And then he smiled a genuine smile.


	11. Blueprint 11

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 11—**

It was already 3 a.m. when Hershel awoke from a nightmare. He couldn't quite remember the contents of the dream, but it left him feeling rather threatened. Telling himself the dream was just that—a dream—he decided to get up and fetch some water. As he reached the door, he vowed never to read horror fiction before bed again. It was out of his usual habit, anyway; normally, he would just read articles written up about new findings in the archaeological community.

Glancing at the clock on the hallway wall, he wondered if he should check on Clive. He often stayed up for entire nights at time, working hard on his project. It wasn't unusual to find him with the light on in the middle of the night, pen scrawling semi-legible notes across the blueprints.

Tonight, though, he heard no scratching of the pen. Curiously, Hershel pushed the door open a little further so a beam of light spilled into the darkness of the hall. He saw Clive slumped across the desk and hesitated. Was the boy alright?

He entered the room and hurried over. "Clive…?" he asked quietly. Well, he was breathing, at least. Hershel could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest, though it was obscured by the blue blazer he often wore. Perhaps the boy had just fallen asleep at the table. Why had he been so worried? It was a common enough occurrence. Hershel himself had to admit that he was prone to doing so at least once a month.

Still, it was unusual for Clive. He must be working himself too hard.

"Clive?" Hershel called again. He was unsure as to whether he should wake the boy up or leave him be. He would certainly get a better rest in an actual bed, though. Perhaps he should carry him to the bed as he had done for Luke so many times before?

No, he was being silly. Clive wasn't a little boy. He may be rather small, but he was still a man and it would be rather hard for Hershel to carry a man to bed at his age.

Instead, Hershel opted to just watch and wait for a while longer. He glanced over at the blueprints Clive had collapsed on. They were all very technical and difficult to decipher but from what Hershel could read of them, it looked like Clive was designing a very complicated park ride. Hershel wondered what the final product would look like. He wondered what theme Clive had chosen for his park. He doubted "The Wonderful World of Journalism" would be a very attractive theme park. Perhaps he would base the rides on fairy tales. Not that Clive had shown any interest in fairy tales, of course, but it seemed like a standard enough choice and he wasn't completely sure that Clive would bother himself to find a special theme at all.

Perhaps the theme was Shakespeare.

Hershel smirked. Hopefully not.

He looked back at the sleeping boy. His hat had fallen off and his hair was covering part of his face. Still, the thin white scar across his temple was clearly visible. Hershel bit his lip. To him, that scar was the last remaining evidence that he had ever met Claire that second time, so many years after her death. Without it, the memory seemed to be just a fantasy dreamt up by a desperate mind.

But Clive was here and Clive experienced it, too. He had been saved by that fantasy and so, by the professor's logic, it must have been real.

Clive stirred, mumbling something unintelligible. He opened his eyes and sat up quickly, looking straight at the professor. "Did you—did you look?"

"I must admit, I may have peeked. That's quite the complicated ride you're designing there, my boy."

"Ride? Ah—yes—that ride. That one is frustrating. It has too many parts to fit in and still look nice." Clive frowned, picking up the blueprint. "If only I could make it more concise…"

"Sleep on it, my boy. You must be exhausted."

"Just a little long—"

"Nothing productive comes out of a tired mind. Go to bed."

Clive hesitated, then sighed. "Yes, professor."

"Good night, Clive."

"Good night."


	12. Blueprint 12

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 12—**

Hershel returned from work that day to find the house uncharacteristically empty. Thinking Clive and Flora had gone out for tea (perhaps they had finally settled their differences?), he settled in on the couch, intending to finally get some reading done. With all the work he had been doing for the university lately, it was a rare treat to be able to relax.

Maybe that's why he fell asleep.

No sooner had he reached the second paragraph of the first page of the first chapter did Hershel feel his eyelids begin to droop.

_Perhaps I will rest my eyes for a few minutes_, he thought placidly. The house was silent save for the ticking of the grandfather clock across the hall.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

It was rather soothing, wasn't it? He had long since grown accustomed to the noise. It was such a noble noise, he thought, that of a grandfather clock. It sounded wise. Perhaps that was the archaeologist in him, though, his love of old things. The clock was an antique, given to him by none other than his mentor Andrew Schrader….

Hershel wasn't really clear on when he had really drifted off. He hadn't even noticed until he woke up. How much time had passed? Goodness, there goes at least an hour of reading. And he had _so_ been looking forward to catching up on this book.

He was suddenly conscious of the fact that he was not alone on the couch. Fully awake, he turned to see who had decided that his shoulder would make a good pillow.

"Clive?" Hershel stared in wild surprise. What was Clive doing here? Why was he on the couch?

Clive's eyelids fluttered and he became rather abruptly aware of where he was. "Goodness. Hello, professor. I'm sorry, I've been terribly rude, I just—I'm not really sure. I thought I would say good afternoon, but you were asleep. I decided to wait rather than bother you, perhaps catching up on some of my work…but I'm afraid I seem to have followed suit." He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in odd directions. "I promise, it wasn't my intention."

"No matter, my boy. I was just rather…surprised at the development. Recently, you never seem to leave your room."

"Yes, well, I've been rather busy. I believe that period will end soon, I'm nearly done the prototype."

"Indeed? May I perhaps take a look? I've been quite curious, myself."

Clive shook his head. "No, not yet. I don't want to show it to you until it's done. I know it's rude of me to ask to wait so long, but it's really important that you see the finished product, rather than just the preliminary construction. It should be complete in a couple of days, I should think, so I will show it to you then."

"That's fine. I won't rush you. I may be a professor, but you needn't show me all your homework." Hershel chuckled. "Oh, that was dreadful. I promise never to make such a hideous joke again." He stood, stretching, and readjusted his iconic top hat. "Would you like some tea?"

"I should get back to work." Clive rubbed his temples with one hand, pinching his nose. He certainly _looked_ exhausted. The bags under his eyes seemed to grow darker every time Hershel saw him.

"Don't stress yourself out too much, my boy. It's not a timed project. I think you can afford a rest."

Clive smiled wearily. "There's no rest for the wicked, professor."


	13. Prototype 13

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 13—**

"It's finished."

Hershel looked up from his morning tea, folding the paper across the table. "Pardon?"

"It's finally finished." Clive sank into a chair. His hair stuck up every which way, uncombed and untamed. The bags under his eyes had grown darker even still, and his complexion was far too pale. But he was smiling. A frenzied smile, yes, the smile of a man who has spent weeks staying up long hours for one sole purpose. And for Clive, that purpose was his theme park.

Hershel grinned broadly. "Congratulations, my boy! I knew you could do it." He patted Clive on the shoulder. "Well done! I do believe a celebration is in order." Taking note of Clive's dishevelled appearance, he quickly added, "Ah, after you rest, of course. Take a few days off, perhaps? You've certainly earned it."

Clive shook his head. "No, professor. I can't stop yet. I've only just begun! The prototype is the mere beginning, you see? Next I shall have to build full scale models of all the attractions! The mechanics work in miniature, yes, but will they work full scale?"

Hershel frowned a little. It was always worrying when Clive began acting so manic, but it could logically be attributed to his lack of sleep. "Clive, you should rest. I don't want you to get ill."

"Come, professor," Clive said, as though Hershel's words had passed through one ear and out the other, "let me show you the diorama! I built the models, all of them, and you must be the first to see!" And then he pulled roughly on the professor's arm. Hershel obliged, though rather anxiously, and followed the boy up the stairs.

"Look." Clive pointed like a little boy showing his father a toy.

"This is very impressive, my boy. Are these the rides?" Hershel leaned forward, examining the model park thoroughly. "Do they actually work?"

"Yes, all of them work. Like a theme park for gerbils."

Hershel blinked a bit at this but decided to brush it off. "This is amazing, Clive. Simply amazing."

Clive proceeded to show Hershel each individual ride, rattling off bizarre lists of trivia. Hershel did his best to try and understand, but it was surprisingly difficult. Clive was in a level all on his own.

"I…I can't help but notice, my boy…" Hershel began. "But, ah…is your theme archaeology?"

"Yes," Clive said offhandedly. "Archaeology and puzzles."

"I see…" The corners of Hershel's mouth twitched.

"It's…it's how I've chosen to express my gratitude, professor. Thank you for everything," Clive said, looking oddly embarrassed.

"Thank you, Clive. I'm touched." Hershel patted Clive on the back. "This is absolutely wonderful."

"Yes. Do you see why I want to continue work now? I must begin the full scale prototypes now, or perhaps at least half scale… If I phone the metalworking company tonight, I might be able to—"

"No, Clive," Hershel said quickly. "I believe it is best for you to accept this victory and do the wise thing now."

"The wise thing?" Clive repeated.

"Yes, my boy. Sleep."


	14. Prototype 14

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 14—**

"Good morning, professor."

"Good evening, Clive." Hershel sipped his piping hot tea. "Did you have a good sleep?"

"Can it be called sleep when it begins with fainting?" Clive replied, pouring himself a cup.

"Oh dear. Is that true, my boy?"

"I've worried you." Clive looked up. "Don't fret, professor, it's happened before, and I'm sure it will happen again."

"That is not comforting." Hershel set his cup back on the saucer and folded his hands in his lap. "Does it happen often? Are you prone to fainting spells?"

Clive gave a noncommittal shrug. "At times. Honestly, professor, it's nothing to worry about. I am not ill. And," he chuckled, "I would not call them _fainting spells_, either. It's just the failsafe button in the back of my brain, perhaps. I have not yet learned how to override the system." He smiled.

Hershel cleared his throat. None of this was very reassuring. "Perhaps we should take you to the doctor's."

_Crack._

Tea and porcelain and blood spilled everywhere. Hershel sprang to his feet, eyes wide with shock. "Clive!"

"Oh dear." Clive looked down with muted interest in the scene before him. "I believe I gripped that rather too hard. My apologies, professor, for the broken—"

"Oh, what does that matter!" Hershel snapped. "Quickly, come to the sink and run your hand under the water or you'll burn."

"Yes, that is a rather good idea." Clive went to the sink and ran his hand under cold water, wincing.

"I'll call the hospital and warn them ahead of ti—"

"No need. It's not very deep." Clive examined his palm. "I'm afraid it looks worse than it is. No fear, professor."

"Goodness, Clive! How can you be so calm? Come to the bathroom, I'll get a patch for you."

"I don't know," Clive said, following the professor up the stairs. "Perhaps I'm used to it? Cuts are not uncommon during the prototyping stage."

"I would prefer if you were to show a little more concern over your wellbeing." Hershel dabbed some disinfectant on the wound. "It doesn't look like there are any shards in it, at least. You were lucky."

"I am always lucky, professor."

"Have you cut yourself many times before?"

"You make it sound like I did it purposefully! No, despite your misgivings, I am actually very careful and _very_ precise." He paused. "Though I suppose I am guilty of letting my mind wander and my attention…slip."

Hershel frowned as he pressed the gauze against the cut. "This is all very worrying."

"Hazards of the job," Clive laughed. "Really, professor, you needn't worry yourself. I have lived through worse—a few small cuts are nothing."

"You say so, but it's difficult to accept."

"Oh? So your little puzzle outings are without their dangers?"

Hershel paused. "That's different."

"How so? You suffer for your career, I suffer from mine."

But Hershel didn't like the way Clive was laughing. It was too easy-sounding, with an almost cruel undertone. It was almost scary. "I believe it is best to avoid danger when necessary."

"Whatever you say, professor. I am not the one who risked his own life to save the fool of the prime minister who killed his girlfriend…or the fool who nearly killed them all."

"Are you quite alright, Clive?"

"Yes, professor. I am just laughing at myself. It's very funny in retrospect, but I don't think you'd get the joke."

"No, I think we have very different tastes in humour." Hershel tied the bandage off.

Clive examined the professor's handiwork, still smiling. "Yes, I'm afraid I'd have to agree with you there."

"Just be more careful from now on."

He laughed. "I'll do my best."


	15. Prototype 15

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 15—**

"Really, now, professor. You've been pussyfooting around me all week."

Hershel straightened up, coughing into his fist. "I haven't the foggiest as to what you mean, my boy."

Clive leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing across his face. "Oh? So you haven't been unusually quiet these past few days?"

"Heavens, no. Or rather, if I have, it's because the exam period is stressful on professors as well as students." Hershel chuckled.

"Indeed? Well, then, perhaps my accusations are unfounded, then. Carry on, my feline-footed friend." Clive turned back to his room.

"Ah—wait, Clive."

"Yes, professor?"

"How is your project coming along?"

Clive tapped his fingers against the heavy wood of the door thoughtfully. "Hm. To tell the truth, it's rather slow going."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. There are many mechanical…aspects…which require my absolute attention. I will have to work harder if I am ever to get the design up and running."

"Is that so? Well, as I said, my limited expertise is always at your service."

"Oh, no. I couldn't take up any more of your resources," Clive said, smiling bleakly. "Haven't you a great many essays to be marking? I should be the one assisting you, professor."

"Well, there's a thought. Have you ever thought about becoming a teaching assistant?"

"Oh, yes. A great many times."

"Well?"

"Well what?"  
"What of it?"

"I am afraid that moulding new minds is a job far more important than one someone such as myself could ever hope to excel at."

"Don't be silly, Clive. You would be a wonderful TA. Perhaps even a professor! You would make quiet the dashing architecture or engineering professor, I am sure."

"Let's leave the 'future' to you, professor. I am much too caught up in the past."

"That's ridiculous. You have as much of a future as I—no, even more. Certainly more, barring any unforeseen accidents, of course."

"Yes. The unpredictable factors always seem to have a way of complicating things. I will have to plan for that, too, I suppose."

"They call it 'unpredictable' for a reason, Clive. Theory alone can only go so far."

"And this is coming from a university professor! They'll dock your pay for that."

Hershel laughed. "Theory does have its place, yes. However, it is only when things are put into practice that their effectiveness can truly be judged."

"Oh, yes. I am all too aware of that." Clive nodded. He chuckled. "Perhaps I will have to reserve teachingdom for a backup plan."

"That is the mindset of many of my students, yes."

"You know what they say, professor! 'Those who can't do, teach.'"

"Yes, m'boy. And if that fails, there is always, 'Those who can't teach, administrate.'"

Clive frowned. "Indeed."


	16. Prototype 16

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 16—**

"How goes work, my boy?" Hershel rustled his newspaper, hastily turning away from the front page. _Special Investigation Held on Canadian Judge's Idiotic Short Sentence on Convicted Mass-Murdering Criminal_. Really, now. Was the news day so slow that it need print variations on old headlines?  
The gesture did not go unnoticed. Clive's eyes from the professor to his paper and back again. His mouth twitched. "It's fine, professor. Being a journalist myself, I can't say I don't see the merit in these stories."

"But that's all they are," Hershel said. "Stories."

Clive regarded the professor carefully for a moment, then sat down. He poured himself a cup of tea. "It is nice that _someone_ believes in me so wholeheartedly, at least."

"Hmph!" There was a great clatter of pots behind him and Flora stormed out of the room. Clive watched her go with slight amusement.

"Clive…" Hershel warned.

"I assure you, it wasn't intended as a jab at her. It wasn't a jab at anyone, really. Not in particular." To be honest, Clive hadn't even registered that she was in the same room. He wondered if that was why the professor and his "apprentice number one" were always leaving her at home. Perhaps one day he would have to take her on her own adventure to make up for it.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. No, that was a terrible idea. She was apt to hit him with a frying pan, and he wasn't so keen on the idea of being alone with her, either. He hadn't made the best few impressions on her, and his time living in the house seemed to have made things worse, if anything. Neither youth had made it much of a point to try to start a conversation, and they spent most of their time in their respective rooms.

Oh well. "How went the exams, professor?"

Hershel looked away. "I would prefer you didn't ask about that, my boy…"

Clive chuckled. "That poorly, hm?"

"If only all of my pupils were as, ah, _studious_ as you."

"You flatter me." Clive sipped his tea. "You never saw me in my student days, professor."

"I haven't the need." Hershel sighed and tipped his hat. "I am sure you were top of your class in ever subject, hm?"

"Yes, well, there are more important things than grades, I'm afraid. The practical is never quite the same as the theory. But you'd know that, wouldn't you, professor?"

Hershel's brow creased. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow, my boy."

"Heavens, don't give me that look. I merely meant that as a professor, you must be aware that there are points when theory is overshadowed by practice in value."

"Of course."

"Really, professor. You worry too much. I'm afraid you'll neglect your students." He chuckled. "And, by the sound of it, they need all the help they can get."

"Unfortunately, I'd have to agree."

"Don't fret. I'm sure when your little charge comes of age, he'll…wreck the grading curve, actually, now that I think about it."

Hershel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I've thought of that. I have forced myself to imagine that he will create study sessions in which he shows some of the other students—"

"To be less horrible?"

"Not in those words. Never in those words!" Hershel paused. "…but yes. Exactly."

Clive laughed. "Well, I'm sure it will turn out alright. He's quite the character."

"Indeed he is. It will be a pleasure teaching him. His peers, however…well, I will have to see."

"And you wonder why I never went into teaching."

"Sometimes, Clive, I wonder why _I_ did."

"Persevere, professor. If you can't mould those minds, surely no one can."

Hershel sighed. "I tell myself that every working day, my boy. Every. Working. Day."


	17. Prototype 17

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return –Part 17—**

"Professor?"

Hershel's eyes flicked up from his cup of tea and he pulled the infuser from the cup. He was a master brewer, of course, and though he was quite the conversationalist, too, he did not want to ruin his morning pick-me-up. "Yes, Clive?"

"I…I have something I must show you."

Hershel's brows knit together in concern. "Yes, my boy? What is it?"

"I am afraid I can't show you here, professor. Would you adjourn with me to my room?" Clive replied. He hesitated, then added, "Please?"

"Yes, of course." Worried, the professor followed his young ward up the stairs with heightened urgency. Was the boy alright? Surely, he hadn't fallen in with the wrong crowd—he hardly left his room! But the way the young man was moving, slightly off-balance with rigid steps… It was all very distressing.

"After you, professor." Clive held the door open and Hershel took a moment to survey him more fully. There were dark bags under his eyes and his hair flopped over his face in a most un-gentlemanly way, but he was smiling.

It was the smile that worried him most.

"Yes. Thank you, my boy," Hershel replied, recalling his manners and stepping inside.

Clive left the door wide open and Hershel breathed a silent sigh of relief. Whatever the matter was, it wasn't something so terrible as to try to hide from the other occupants of the house. Clive had gone over to the table he had set up with the scaled model of the amusement park, and was now hunched over something at the center of it. It was coming along nicely, Hershel noticed, with many of the attractions filled in. To his surprise, some of them were actually moving! His heart swelled with pride—perhaps Clive was becoming quite the gentleman after all! All gentlemen had respectable hobbies, and small mechanics were always popular.

"Here, professor." Clive beckoned, drawing Hershel's attention to the small courtyard at the center of the park. There he found a tiny, immaculately painted statue of…

Himself. There was a small statue of himself and—and—why, that must be Flora and Luke beside him!

"Clive, this is…spectacular," Hershel breathed. "But are you sure? Certainly, you could choose a better focal point than—"

"No, professor," Clive interrupted smoothly. "A puzzle is nothing without a master. And who better to be my park's crowned puzzle king than the great Professor Layton himself? No, this is perfect."

"I…I am at a loss for words, my boy."

Clive smiled up at him, that same small, slightly off-putting smile. The boy definitely had not been getting enough sleep, he was starting to look positively manic. "Then be flattered."

"I am," Hershel assured. "Truly, I am."

Laughing, Clive said, "And ever the shining picture of modesty, eh, professor?"

"Why, it isn't every day that I am crowned 'Puzzle King', you know."

"No, it isn't!" Clive replied in a jovial tone. "It's every other day. I read the papers, you know. I have heard of your exploits."

"You—you read the newspapers? The current papers?"

"Yes, yes," Clive said, waving his hand dismissively. "They're all in a great fuss about my release, but that _isn't_ what matters here, professor! What do matter are your accomplishments, and I will see to it that you are rewarded for them!"

"A puzzle solved is the only reward I need," Hershel said. "I do it for the thrill of the case, my boy."

"Oh, I know," said Clive. "But that certainly doesn't mean that I will accept that. No, professor, you deserve much more than a pat on the back and the occasional bouquet of flowers. You deserve so much more."

"I can't say I agree with you there," Hershel replied, starting to feel uncomfortable with the excessive praise. "Perhaps you should go to sleep, Clive. A tired mind is an unhappy mind."

"Are you proud of me, professor?"

Hershel's eyebrows rose in slight surprise at the sudden question, but he smiled at the poor, tired boy before him. He smiled slightly, encouraging him. "Yes, of course. You have done very well, Clive."

"Yes. Good." Clive nodded and looked back at his miniature amusement park, tweaking a few things here and there and nodding appreciatively.

"Ah…yes. Of course. Well, if you will excuse me, Clive, I have some tea to attend to."

Clive glanced back up, startled, as if surprised the professor was still in the room with him. "Yes. Yes, of course. My apologies. That was all. Thank you for your time."

"And thank you, Clive. It was very kind of you to make me your park's mascot, as it where—though I can't say I see the appeal myself." Hershel chuckled and Clive gave a furtive nod, still staring at his models, mouth set in a slightly frustrated manner. He picked up a stationary ride and carried it over to his bench, and the conversation was over.


	18. Prototype 18

**Professor Layton and the Rewritten Return ~ Part 18**

"I've finished."

Hershel looked up from his paper, the cup of tea still at his lips. The gently rising curls of steam obscured his vision but he broke into a smile nonetheless. "Indeed?"

"Yes," said Clive. "It's done." He was leaning on the doorframe looking rather worse for wear, but there was a faint ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

"Do we get to see the finished project?" Hershel asked. He was rather curious to see how the whole contraption worked, after so long a production process. It had always struck him as almost ridiculously intricate, complete with working parts down to the last miniature. He wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that even the tiny ovens could yield even tinier pastries if one wished.

Clive hesitated for a few moments, lingering at the door, before he nodded slightly and straightened up. "Yes. Yes, of course. Come with me, professor. I have quite the sight to show you."

Hershel was intrigued and so he was unable to completely hide his haste, spilling a few drops of his tea as he set the cup down on its saucer and discarding the paper, unfolded, on the kitchen table. He followed Clive's shuffling footsteps back upstairs to the workroom, where Clive stopped quite suddenly, blocking Hershel from entering.

"Ah," said Clive. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, professor, but I would be much more at ease if you promised not to touch anything."

Hershel's eyebrows rose in slight surprise, but he nodded. "Yes, of course. No fear, my boy. I shan't go disturbing your fine work."

"Thank you." Clive pulled his arm back and Hershel was allowed entrance as the light flicked on. They approached the massive spread, Clive surveying it with the eye of the devil's advocate, while Hershel expressed nothing but appreciation. Clive was a perfectionist, it seemed, and it didn't surprise the professor in the slightest.

"This is wonderful, Clive," Hershel said, eyes running over the detailed models. "Truly wonderful."

"Is that so? Then I think you will enjoy this, professor." Clive stepped forward and slid a hand under the table, dextrous fingers searching for something unseen. _Click_! With a flip of the switch, the whole scene fell into motion. Rides spun round, bathed in the light of a hundred tiny streetlamps.

"Wonderful," Hershel said again. He wondered if Clive would be up to building a train set with him before catching himself. He scolded himself for the notion and went back to appreciating the miniature park. It really was very impressive; it belonged in an art gallery.

"Oh, I'm afraid we're not finished there," Clive replied, a hint of amusement sparking behind his tired eyes.

"No?" Hershel tore his eyes from the park to look at the sly face of the young man.

"No, there is one last thing you ought to see before I begin preparations for construction." Clive slipped from the professor's side and went back to the room's entrance. His hand danced over the lightswitch and everything seemed to go dark, if only for a moment. Then, Hershel's attention was drawn back to the park. He let out a very soft, very small but still completely audible gasp.

"Clive..." But he trailed off, at an utter loss for words. Every ride in the park was lit up, glowing warmly in the darkness, transforming it into a city of solid gold. The light flickered, dancing with the shadows and pulling the professor in. He had so lost himself in the beautiful model that he hadn't realized his nose was inches away from the park entrance until Clive put a guiding hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.

"My apologies," Hershel said quickly.

Clive just shrugged. "Given the circumstance, I think it is understandable. Don't worry, professor-when the real park is built, I'm more than willing to let you run about sticking your nose in various places."

Hershel was sure that Clive was mocking him, but his tone was devoid of the cruelty that always gave his dark humour away. Perhaps he was just tired.

"This is wonderful, Clive."

"Yes, professor, you've said that."

Again, Hershel couldn't be sure if Clive was amused or had simply ceased to function properly on the amount of sleep he must be getting. "I think it bears repeating."

Clive chuckled quietly. "Then I must thank you, I suppose. However, it is getting late and I must begin my work on organizing construction."

Hershel knew he was being dismissed, but he lingered. "I think that can wait for the morning, my boy," he pressed. Clive didn't fight him. He just glanced at the models, gave a nigh imperceptible nod, and cut the power to his park.

"Good night, Clive," Hershel called to the dark.

There was no answer, save for the soft thud of a body hitting a bed. Hershel smiled and left.


End file.
